Funerals are for the living

 An old friend died a few weeks ago.  His funeral was yesterday and I wanted to honor our long acquaintance. It was one of those work friendships that stop and start, but always warm and convivial .  He challenged my intellect.

So I went to the Mass.

I did not go to the wake and gathering the day before.  I almost NEVER go to the internment and for reasons I will explain below, I did not go to the after gathering.

The Mass was at a church in my childhood neighborhood and I remember going there for Mass with my neighbor, Sandy.  I am not Catholic, but Sandy was and she HAD to go to Mass every Sunday so often when she missed going with her siblings, she would convince me to go.  I had to put on a dress and put a bow in my hair ( this was before the whole head covering rule was removed, a bow was acceptable for young girls.)

I remember arriving breathless ( we ran) on the steps and entering the vestibule, where there were candles you could light, after making a small donation, to honor the dead or something like that. I was not clear on the concept.  The church was dark and hushed as we scrambled into the pews- Sandy would genuflect, but I just crouched down and slid in beside her.   The Mass was in Latin and I remember her poking me to get up or kneel at the appropriate moments.

The church has been redesigned since those days in the 60s  I walked around, past the old steps to wide glass doors. I walked into a light , airy space that reminded me more of a social hall than a church.  The pews looked like they could be moved out of the way for a dance or a party.  It all felt... temporary.

I sat by myself and and some point, realized the only person I knew was the one we were mourning.  I sat quietly, no one approached me or spoke to me.  I felt like an interloper. I sat, thinking about my friend, our debated and our laughter.  I thought of what I knew of him  and wished there were stories being told ( I think there was an event the day before, but I usually avoid Wakes.)

The sound in the room was terrible.  At one point, I wondered if the priest was doing the Mass in Latin, it was so garbled ( yes I had my hearing aids in, yes I had them up high)

It was just a Mass.  The way the priest spoke my friend's whole name when he mentioned him as part of the Mass made it feel less personal. I found myself wondering if he even knew him or was just contracted to perform the mass.   The vibe in the room felt... off. There were no eulogies and we were dismissed without much emotion.

Funerals are to comfort the living. I thought about the rituals of Funeral Masses and how they are supposed to be comforting.  I was not comforted.

No one made any announcements about the rest of the day and I felt terribly out of place, so I came  home.  I will think about my friend this weekend and probably off and on for the rest of my life.  We shared a birthday, although he was younger than me. Remembering his life, the impact of our friendship  will stay with me.

Rest in Power, Marcos.   And try not to give God a hard time.

 

very short poem

 

I had a dream about a friend who died a few years ago.    It was an odd "visit"  Things between us still somewhat unresolved.

This poem.  Very short.  Which, if you have read my book "Small Bites" you know that's how I write them

I called to say goodbye

she said

words she had practiced

until they were completely right

said to 

unanswered rings

that played in her ear

For Jules

 You were probably

scattered in the wind

Fitting and proper for a gypsy dancer

But I have no place to sit and mourn you

No place to lay a single white rose

No place to shed my tears

I will think of you

As I watch the waves push onto the shore

Or in a garden of trees

I think of our early days

Laughing

And lying on the cool cement of an airplane hanger

Drunk from the heat and too much sloe gin

Always laughing whenever we were together

I will try not to regret

What should have been

And rejoice what was

And is always with me.

Poetry

 so, I did a thing last night.  I read from my book and talked about poetry, these poems and life in general to a group of about ten people.  I think it went well and I appreciated the love and support from people who knew how important this was to me. 

I wrote a book.  Yes.  After around 60 years of saying and dreaming I did it.  I have read one or two poems at local open mikes but this was all .. me.  Talking about me and my process and my history.

I think it went ok.

Several people asked  "what next?"  I don't know, but this morning I thought I would start writing more poems. I started THIS blog to write every day and maybe I should spend more time doing just that- this blog plus poetry every day.  

I think I will start a personal blog for my poetry and see where it takes me, sharing here when I think it is appropriate.

My book is available on Amazon, but the Friends of the Los Feliz Library bought a batch, I have them so if you want one, hit me up.  Donation goes back to the Friends  $11 bucks.

This one can be signed by me ( lol)

Ghosts

 

Do you believe in ghosts

she asked

not looking at me

but drawing out lazy circles

from the condensation

of her now-empty glass

Do you mean ghosts that appear 

in front of you

at the foot of your bed

wordlessly demanding answers

or the kind that attach themselves to your soul

Haunting you 

with longing 

and regret

for the past they alone inhabit

I suspect she could not answer me

any more than I could answer her

as she continued to stare at her fingers

tracing circles in the non-existent  culaccino 

\

Wool-gathering on a Friday morning

 I miss shoe stores.

When I was a little kid, we would buy shoes twice a year- before school in September and as Summer approached. We had two pair of shoes: school shoes and play shoes. In summer we got sneakers and sandals.  Do you remember looking at the shoes, having the clerk measure your feet with the Brannock Device and then sliding the shoe, ever so carefully, on your foot? it was.. magical.  I have a friend who said her daughter called going to the shoe store her Cinderella Day.  I guess it was.

I miss Payless Shoes.  You could go in and look over racks and racks of shoes, try them on and walk out. My feet don't always conform with the size so I need to "try before I buy" -getting shoes online is a pain in the patoot!  I also suspect that like most women's wear, shoe sizing is not true to anything and more like a vanity size than the real thing ( ooohh I wear a size SIX)

When I was a teen, I shopped endlessly in Malls.  My mom would sit down with me at the start of the school year to see what I needed and what my budget was.  Because I knew our finances were tight, I gave her the closest estimate I could.  She let me keep whatever I didn't spend BUT I had to buy everything on my list.  I was usually pretty close.

I am getting to a certain vintage.  I am not yet at the cane-waving GET OFF MY LAWN phase of life, for starters I don't HAVE a lawn- but  I miss things from my childhood. . I miss the slower pace.  Today everything seems so sped up ( do you find yourself YELLING at the microwave to "hurry up I don't have all minute"  ???) I miss Thrifty ice cream counters   The ice cream man coming down the street. Playing baseball in the street ( yelling CAR when one came slowly down the street I lived on a small street and everyone who lived there knew we might be playing in the street.  I live in a small apartment building now and I have made an effort to know my neighbors.  When I was married the first time, we lived in a house and barely knew our next-door neighbor but as kids in the 60's we were in and out of each other's houses all the freaking time.

I miss that.

What do you miss?

Books, Grief and memory

 On this day in 1981, My friend Laura E. Hernandez passed away from Lupus. It wasn't the first time someone I knew died, but this one hit me between the eyes.  Part of me knew she was dying, but part of me was firmly in the land of Denial. After all we were in our early 20's and people our age don't die from illness. 

But she did.  

Her life was such a spark.  Someone said she was an angel walking and I suppose that's as close as you can get to a description.  She was human sunshine, a fierce friend and a genuinely good soul.  I think she must have completed her mission here  I think of her often- I went so far as to give her middle name to my daughter.  I can't hear the Christopher Cross song "think of Laura" without sobbing- which is the antithesis of what the song tries to do.  I often think of what her life would have been like if they had the medical knowledge they do now. The memory of her life and the sweet, fun times we had overtakes the sadness.

Timing sucks, but I am currently reading the Newberry Award Winner "all the Blues in the Sky"  about a young girl whose best friend in killed by a hit and run driver while on her way to see her.  I'm about halfway through the book. I keep having to put it down.  It deals with grief, guilt and anger in a way teens can understand ( this is a book for Young Adults)  It is well written- it Is A Newberry, after all!

It got me thinking about people I knew who died when I was a kid.  Car accidents, household accidents, shot by police, suicide.  I did have a neighbor who was about 19 who had a viral infection that attacked his heart.  He was super healthy and athletic.  I never understood that.

As I get older, I find I am going to more funerals or memorial services. It sucks but it is a fact of life. I try to think of it this way, mourning a death means I got to celebrate a friendship. There is an expression from the Jewish tradition, which I have adopted as it means more to me than the traditional Christian platitudes like "they've gone to a better place" or "Heaven needed an angel"  ( don't start me on that, since I FIRMLY believe that humans do not transition to angels)  They say "May their memory be a blessing" It aligns with what I often say May the joy of their life soon overtake the grief of their passing. It works for me.

As I remember my friend Laura today, I will Share a poem she once put on a scrap of paper in my work inbox:

From Emily Dickinson

To make a prairie (1779)

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

That says mor than I just said.